


Heartbreaker

by cledritch



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, Falling In Love, Heart Collector Yuta, Heartbreak, Idiots in Love, M/M, Magical Realism, Minor Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Lee Taeyong, Past Relationship(s), Possibly Unrequited Love, Slow Build, Slow Burn, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Weird Plot Shit, Winwin's hurting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 06:26:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14254932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cledritch/pseuds/cledritch
Summary: Yuta collected broken hearts. Winwin's is another he wants to make an exception of.





	1. Midas in Reverse

**Author's Note:**

> I've worked on this since December last year, buried because I started writing more while I neglected this. I wrote this really sad and also heartbroken so it gave me weird insight. I'm letting go of that time of my life so it's time to finally let this fic finish. It's more than 30k btw but this is just the first part because why not? Thank you to the friends who helped me without knowing. Enjoy and tell me what you think. I'm gonna rest for a week before writing more.

_“When you are sorrowful, look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.”_ _  
―_ **_Kahlil Gibran_ **

 It’s quiet tonight. Quieter than the nights before, he mused as the clouds overhead covered the waning moon as the bus is cast with shadows. The forecast predicted rain to come after midnight but yet it doesn’t seem to be showing signs yet.

He sits amiably, feet propped on the railing in front of him and whistling a tune that didn’t make sense. The chill is pleasant but every so often when the bus zoomed too fast and a gust of air crept against his neck, he pulled the fur-lined collar of his coat close.

It’s quiet.

Not even the driver is making small talk with him despite the friendly manner he acted during the day when the old ladies boarded. He was old, past his prime that he covered his balding head with a hat from a woman he couldn’t let go and kept his beard unkempt that the crumbs of his lunch clung amidst the curls. He looked at him only once when he boarded, eyebrows furrowing at the scrawny foreigner who smiled brightly before sitting across him and forgoing all public manners.

The last passenger was a young woman who stared at him, smiling coyly before giggling as she stepped down the pavement. He turned to the window to wave at her as the bus started again, shooting her another wide smile before he returned his gaze to the driver.

There’s another wave of silence.

Even as the raindrops began to tap against the roof of the vehicle and the low hum of the engine roared with each turn to the last stop, the driver can’t concentrate on anything but the quiet passenger. He checked the rear view mirror to see what he was up to and swallowing the lump in his throat when he saw that he was looking at him.

There are no words as he stopped at the lone shelter, void of light with how the streetlamp seemed to be busted and he waited for the sound of shuffling, of footsteps as the door automatically opened so he can go home-

“Rough night and you’re going home to an empty house.”

The driver flinched when a hand landed on his shoulder, heavy and resolute that it made him look up to the boy with such bright eyes that glinted like flames in the darkness. There have been times he wondered about the precautions of having late night routes but if he even imagined them to happen, it wouldn’t be with some scrawny boy who didn’t even look half his size.

The words he said only processed now amidst the fear and it only made him break out into cold sweat. He doesn’t know the kid as he’s never seen him before today and yet there is this anxiety coursing inside him that told him this kid knew his whole story.

“What do you want?” His voice quivered, unsuitable for the deep tone he had but then it is responded with a light chuckle.

“There’s only one thing you have that interests me-”

The hand on his shoulder moved, quick and sunk deep right into his chest. He can’t scream, his voice trapped in his windpipe as the wrist dug deeper almost as if it was going to grind his rib cage.

“-and trust me…you’ll be happier without it.”

There’s the melody that played during his wedding echoing in his ears, flashes of the marriage that fell apart as the years went by before the last time he saw his wife as she died in a car accident last year where the police suspected she committed suicide.

Then nothing as he found himself home sitting on the hood of his bus, his chest lighter than the many nights before as static fills his mind.

He doesn’t remember what happened.

ღ

There is always the warmth that lingers when he removed his necklace, a vial of red that he gingerly placed on his bedside. He collapses on his mattress face first, sighing as he listens to his heartbeat.

One, two, three.

It followed the rhythm of the wind howling through the forest. The echoes of the sounds that resonate in the silence of the night. He's been awake for so long he can only hear white noise amidst it all.

Four, five, six.

He's lost count already. It turned to one until ten but he stopped midway. He closes his eyes as he gives up because there is a glow he can see from the corner of his eyes.

Beat, beat, beat.

 

Why does an empty chest retain its heartbeat anyways? He mused as he sat up to reach for the vial. The liquid inside is warmer than usual and he wondered how will it turn out this time. He wished he can predict every reason, every thought as these emotions run rampant.

But he can't.

He's only the collector.

So he wore the necklace, tried to make sure he didn't mistakenly tie his shoelaces from both shoes together. He used to be so frantic in these moments but now it feels like nothing anymore. He's grown apathetic to how things went that he checked the clock to see if he can eat dinner on the way.

After all, he collected it right when it wasn't so volatile.

His hands clench tight as phantom pain surged and off he went.

ღ

At times, it would be somewhere private. Like in a house with a nice picket fence or a resort rented for a getaway fit for only two to three people. Sometimes it was in public; malls, the cafeteria, the college quad and those well-kept touristy spots people flocked to be with their loved ones. It didn't matter where or what was going on before but public places were easy when you were in a sea of faces you'll barely remember.

It was past midnight, in the freezing cold of November. The park was cheery and pleasant to the eyes in the morning with the painted chair and sparkling fountain. At night, it was devoid of the beauty it held and the shadows make you feel as if you didn't belong there.

Yet here was someone crying, sitting on the edge of the fountain as if she was going to throw herself in any minute. The sniffles melded with the rustling of the trees like a lullaby for the lonely.

"Hey there." He said, cheery in the face of suspicion that overcame her face after she raised her head. She had snot and tears trickling down her chin, staining her collar. Not a pretty sight but he's seen worse.

His opening might have been too cliché creepy because she hissed at him to go away.

Instead, he plopped down the other side of the fountain and noting how she kept her guard up as he walked.

"It's not safe for both of us to be out this time. Who knows what people might do, right?"

The first step is to lower their guard. It sounded off if he ever said it out loud but he can't be too pushy unless he wanted them to run away. It isn't good to leave them in their state lest it turns them bitter and he doesn't wish to make countermeasures.

"Rough night? A waste to have been dolled up with those tears." He's been told he has a honey-coated tongue, sweet talker supreme because she chuckles sarcastically as she fought a smile. He can already see how it happened and her hand clutching her chest is only making him wonder how it all went down to this.

"It's not bad, you know."

She granted him with the answer "Hm?"

"The stars are out despite how cold it is and it makes whatever broke your heart tonight less relevant."

Her laughter is short and high-pitched, as if she never realized how easy it was for him to decipher. "Huh, not everyone is crying because they got dumped or something."

He nodded to himself, not quite far from the truth but she is misunderstanding his intentions already. She's reaching for her phone, to call the cops no doubt but he smiled and stood up. The flinching was expected but she kept her fingers over the keypad in case he did something.

"You're not crying over some date. Not all heartbreaks are about that romantic mushy stuff-" he twists his body to look at her and she only sees the glowing red from the vial around his neck. It casts a shadow around his face, dark but not menacing. Almost like the pulsing colors when an ambulance passes by: not part of this place.

"I would know."

She doesn't understand and he can't blame her. Her eyes are darting from his face to his necklace as if trying to piece the puzzles but there is no answer coming up in her head. They sometimes understand what is going on, slumping and letting him do what he was supposed to do but is mostly clueless these days.

The apathy must be worsening with every year that passed.

She trembled, unsure as she said "What are you doing here?"

To ask him that is like asking for why the sun died with every passing moment it burns.

"You won't remember it anyway."

He felt like she took what he said as a warning, a foot turning and her stance ready to flee. In turn, he raised his arms to placate her and tossed her something.

In reflex, she caught it in her two hands and the memories of tonight moving through her mind too fast to reckon.

Her mom cheating on her dad, begging her not to tell him. Emotionally distant, she saw them together with her mom's friends after a vacation with her dad to mend things. It was what made her think of the reasons that this occurred and the inevitable truth going to be discovered soon enough.

She didn't say a word and kept her feelings locked down that no one can come in anymore.

It felt like the intense pain collected in her chest, heavy as it slowly flowed out that she collapsed on her knees with her mouth agape. She coughed up, not sure how she felt as if her breath was knocked out of her lungs before she looked up.

He was gone

So was her heartache.

ღ

He doesn't remember the start. Bits and pieces of being alive for the first time always slipped away from him. They were irrelevant to him so he doesn't bother recalling his 'birth'. He once read about Aphrodite's creation after seeing the painting of her, one of the many stories about how she was made. The one where she rose from sea foam made from the remains of the titan Kronos made him think of his own. The salty tang of the sea as the feeling of sand beneath his feet disappeared as he sank to the deeper depths.

Almost like that.

He now has the memories of every collection he ever made, of a different era where people weren't as difficult now. Still, they were all the same in ways they glorify love and heartbreak like scars they bear on themselves. He knew of a painter who made a portrait of himself as a woman, driven by grief and he can feel the loneliness seeping into him when he offered him what he came for.

His name is not even his own. A ghost of the past that clung to him, given through unshed tears and bitterness concealed in a smile. The sheen of sweat from dancing has cooled uncomfortably then and he hated how his eyes had started to sting too.

There isn't any other memory he wished he could simply forget. His thoughts run rampant in the night, knowing every time he needed to use his name he is faced with reigniting that old flame he kept squashing over and over again.

 

He is reaching for the door handle when he is startled by a loud sound at the end of the hallway, turning his head to see what it was. There is the distinct shape of a silhouette moving and he clasped his free hand tight around the sphere in his pocket. He's not usually paranoid about his surroundings but after a collection, his senses are heightened that he can't differentiate danger from comfort.

"It's too late for you to be out." He heard the silhouette speak, stepping into the dingy light to find his downstairs neighbor with a sheepish grin. He's short, almost pixie-like with pretty features he was sure he saw on a magazine once and black hair messy from sleep. His name escapes his mind though and he waves too animatedly at him.

"Yuta-hyung, is it? I've been wondering when we'd ever cross paths." The boy said, placing a hand on his hip with a pretty smile painting his lips. Yuta can't help smiling back mostly because knew he was lying. They've seen each other and made gestures of greeting when they passed each other down the stairs. He did live a level below and from what he knew, he didn't have any business on this floor. He can see the way the boy kept looking at the corner of his eye, nervously tilting his head to hide he was staring over his shoulder.

But he plays along, too tired to bust whatever he was doing with "Well, late night walks are what helps me sleep at night. Insomnia."

He slept like a baby but this guy didn't need to know. The Thai boy smiles more, charming that he wondered if he was a model before with teeth that nice. "Nightmares or memories?"

Was there any difference, he thought. "Hm, I'm not sure because I always forget them at the end." Yuta flashes a smile of his own, eyes crinkled for good measure. He was being distracted now to make sure he didn't get in the boy's plan and he just needed to get inside to avoid this. But he isn't rude so he at least has to remember his name. For future references.

A laugh is his response and Yuta made a sneaky glance to find a box shuffling at the corner in front of the unoccupied room used for storage.

Oh.

"I hate to go but I need to be early for a class," he said in the most apologetic tone he can muster "But we can catch up later, uh-"

"Oh! Forgot I never did introduce myself. Just Ten because my name is a handful."

"Noted. Good night, Ten." He doesn't hear the reply as he walks inside and locks the door behind him. He does, however, hears a sigh and a muffled version of "Okay, he's gone" before Ten's footsteps trail off as he goes back to his box of (what Yuta presumes) are kittens.

He doesn't dwell more into the thought and pulled out the glass sphere filled with violet liquid. He can feel the disappointment and betrayal lingering from it as he popped open his case where rows of the same sphere in an array of colors from the recent collection lay. Carefully, he placed it in to make sure it was secure before closing the lid and locking.

Yuta collapses on his bed, the vial hitting his nose by accident. He stares at the sloshing red liquid, contemplating before he sat up to take it off and placing it on the bedside table. It glowed faintly but settled to the normal red tint it usually held.

He slept well that night, pillows soft against his head.

ღ

Rainy days were rather influential as Yuta once discovered. More than the overbearing heat of summer, the coldness of winter snow and the vibrant colors of fall.

Rain always gave an ambiance of quiet comfort. The type of rain that fell down in flurry, filling the inside of rain boots. When romantic scenes with rain came on screen, he would eliminate the thought of them getting sick after that drenching moment. He can't say he liked rain but it has its appeal. Even storms of they weren't so devastating in their wake.

He likens his job to a calamity because after the storm, it is up to the person whether they rebuild themselves or let another storm wreck them.

No one ever said you can only have a broken heart once.

Yuta woke up to a forecast of sunny days ahead but today it seemed like the sun decided to skip. With darkened clouds covering the sky when he poked his head out the veranda, it was going to be a long, cold day. He sighed, taking two layers of clothing and wearing boots that wouldn't be ruined when he jumped on puddles. He can't say he liked the atmosphere but getting wet was a whole different story.

He arrived at the cafe with a smile, glad that he didn't open up his umbrella this time. The tinkling of the bell echoed inside, the smell of coffee beans being ground and the freshly baked goods assaulting his senses.

"One Matcha Frappe please." He told the barista who smiled at him prettily before taking a cup and letting him write his name for them to call. He winked, chuckling when the barista returned it as he walked to the window booth to stare at the rain. It was good that he got inside right before it poured.

Droplets running down the glass as if trying to race against each other, Yuta wondered if it was going to let up soon. With that thought, it poured harder. He idly tapped on the glass to follow the path of the water droplets and stopped. The distance is not near enough for him to see clearly but there is someone on the bus stop, waiting out of the shed getting drenched in the rain. It's an unusual sight, not that Yuta hasn't seen worse and he touched his vial to find it cold.

Huh. The barista called his name, handing him his drink with a "Thank you for waiting!"

He smiled as he headed back out, opening his umbrella as he took a sip of his drink. The cold liquid was not preferable for the weather but he liked the chills running down his body. It reminded him of home, after all.

Yuta isn't surprised the boy is still standing there when he arrived to take shelter under the shed. He's looking more drenched than before and he's hugging himself as if his sodden thin sweater could keep him warm. Blonde strands clinging to his forehead, he couldn't be older than eighteen and he is unaware of Yuta as he kept looking down the street.

The roar of the rain echoed as it poured down harder, the contact of the raindrops on the pavement reminisce of a lullaby in its continuous metronome. The boy raised a shaky hand to wipe away the water out of his eyes, still frantically looking to the distance.

"The bus schedule isn't for at least half an hour." Yuta pipes up, startling the boy as he whipped his head to finally look at him. It's fleeting as he turned back but Yuta can see the tips of his ears red in embarrassment.

"I know that-"

"And you'll get hypothermia if you stick out there so I advise you to stay where it's dry and comfortable."

The boy shook his head. "This is nothing. I'll just drink water and salt when I get home to avoid catching anything."

"I can see you shaking from here, kid."

"And I'm trying to catch the bus as soon as I can, alright?"

There's a familiarity that Yuta can place on him. From the strange lilt in his voice to his insistence, he can't help but feel like he's met him before. He squinted, trying to place where blondie resided his memory. His silence is misinterpreted as sulking because the kid faces him again with a sigh.

"I have to get to that exam no matter what." This time, with the look of determination in his eyes, Yuta can remember where he has seen him. His vial is ice cold now, his collarbone where it rested numb at this point. A sign of a premature heartbreak after already being collected.

There's something that urged Yuta to stand next to him with his umbrella over both their heads. The blond boy flinched, unsure if he should run but Yuta assures him with a smile. Maybe he can recognize him as well, his shoulders sagging in relaxation as he just lets Yuta stand beside him.

"Well, it might take some time for the bus to get here but if we go up where the other stop is easier to find, it might cut some time." He nonchalantly suggests, sipping his frappe as he eyed the boy's reaction.

"I'm all out of options now at this point so it wouldn't hurt."

"Well, Nakamoto Yuta, in case you change your mind."

"About you not being a kidnapper? I'll keep it in mind," He chuckled, reaching out his pale hand "Mark Lee."

They trekked up the road, awkward silence passing them and the tune of the rain pattering on top of the umbrella. Mark is sniffing every minute, a cold probably on its way and Yuta wondered just how weak he is at this moment. The puffiness of his face is from lack of sleep as well as the dark circles under his eyes. It's reminiscent of the time he collected, dreams over the childhood he had to leave for them. Yuta can remember him because he was adamant about choosing his passion but Yuta can see plain as day he wanted to do both even if it meant draining him.

Yuta isn't surprised he barely changed. He paused as they are almost there, shrugging his coat off and placing it over Mark's head without warning.

"Huh?" he muttered as Yuta made him take the handle of his umbrella just as the bus came to view. The elder chuckled at the shock on his face, stepping into the pouring rain with a wave.

"We'll see each other pretty soon!" he said while he jogged back down leaving the bewildered boy as the bus honked to get his attention.

Yuta's not even mad as he leisurely walked and sipping his frappe while Mark stared at him even as the bus rode down, disappearing at the curve. He's relishing the rain as it slips down his face, hair sticking to his scalp as it poured harder that his clothes stuck like second skin.

It's the least he can do before he has to see the kid's pain overcome him again.

With the rain as his company, he walked back home. His clothes are too wet for him to get to work anyways and the owner wouldn't take too kindly if he dripped on his clean carpet. The sight of the misty glaze of the rain cover his surroundings made him forget about his vial, chalking it as a misread signal.

He is too cold to realize his vial is still numbing his collar and the figure that stared at him holding a red umbrella from afar is gone before he can see it.

Needless to say, Yuta doesn't really understand if the chill is from the cold anymore.

ღ

Yuta liked dancing.

The rhythm that surges as the music starts, limbs familiar with the tune moving in tandem to it. The pounding beat of the bass that echoed in his head as he stopped to gain his breath. There is nothing as intoxicating as getting lost in your own body when the music takes over every sense you have. Locking your limbs just to get the right snap of movement, sneakers squeaking against polished floors while the mirrors give you the show of your dance.

Yuta knows dance because he used to attend workshops in Japan, slipping inside dance rooms under the guise of a lost student. He'd keep his earphones on as he danced to a choreography he once saw online and forget he is technically breaking in. Because of his enthusiasm in every move, feet making loud thuds and the whoops he made with a particularly racy beat, it was only inevitable someone would discover him.

Thinking back then, Yuta both regrets and glorifies he’d made such noise. He doesn't dwell too much on the way he spun around as the door is closed all of a sudden, meeting a pair of eyes through the mirror. The shock and vertigo of the spin sent him down to the floor, his behind making such a loud thud he was afraid that he might have fractured a hip. He hissed in pain, instinctively reaching for his butt while the rush of footsteps and a person next to him asks if he is alright.

That's where Yuta drew the line. He doesn't let the memory go past that question, concerned voice from pale lips haunting him still. It is easier to not let his mind delve into it so as to not reopen the wound that still lingered.

So now, he wandered Seoul's dance workshops like a ghost in the night. This time, he danced in silence with the music in his head guiding his every step. When he chanced upon some rookie group practicing or a person brushing up to their dance lessons, he would peek through the door to watch them for a few minutes before he was discovered and escorted out. All the lies he had to pull out his ass had started piling up that sometimes the guard is too exasparated to kick him out. They'd sternly warn him to not get in trouble and forced him to be the pretend-janitor if he wanted to stay awhile. Sometimes he accepted. Most times, he gets bored watching such distasteful dancing and trying not to laugh when they trip on their feet. He's been there but the awkwardness is still so refreshing, especially when they start improving.

Sometimes Yuta wandered into large open parks and tourist spots dance groups practiced on their free time when studios are stifling to them. He sees an array of mixed gender groups making original choreography for song remixes, the cover groups he found good when they rocked the often times hard moves and even the Zumba classes that he found endearing as he watched elderly ladies having so much fun.

Every time, he clutched his vial between his fingers, waiting for a reaction. It did glow and dim that he has had collections amidst the routine but he was waiting for a specific reaction. To a certain presence. He waits with baited breath every time when he wondered if it would react this time or the next.

It never does.

He doesn't know if he is disappointed or not.

ღ

His job is fairly easy. That is to say his day job when his vial is not pointing him to heartbreak like a compass. There wasn't even an indication of him just getting it other than a tall, eccentric well-dressed man speaking English he barely understood shoving him inside a well-hidden shop at the corner between two condemned buildings.

To think, he was just walking to get to this free university dance workshop he saw on his SNS and then his arm is roughly hauled as he heard a gruff noise that could have been a curse. The weird shades-wearing man seemed to not think too much that he basically kidnapped Yuta. All he was interested in was dragging him two streets down and into wooden doors with red cloths hanging over the small windows.

Yuta was unsure what happened then but there, the owner of the bustling shop (he shouldn't have assumed it was deserted with how hidden it was) greeted him. There were traces of tears in his eyes, an odd air of regret floating in his aura that his vial made a small glow but settled afterwards. Yuta learned his name was Kim Junmyeon which made his eyebrows rise as he had been aware that Kims are usually of high status. It showed in the way the small man carried himself, Armani suit impeccable and his rolex glinting whenever he checked the time. It was so weird that he tentatively asked why he was running a restaurant. A chicken and beer kind where the booths are well-furnished and the food smelled terribly good.

"A hobby." was his curt reply before he waved over the other part-timer, a boy Yuta recognized from one of the dance classes. He was the one with tan skin and a wide smile who was really graceful.

"Jongin-ah, this is the new worker-" he paused and smiled sheepishly "Terribly sorry-what was your name again?"

And that was that. He got his apron and he spent the majority of his free time when he didn't need to collect here, serving customers at the counter and sometimes being the waiter. For such a small scale job, Junmyeon pays too much that Yuta wondered just for what this shop really was. Not to mention, the tall man who led him here has made no appearance again that it made him suspicious.

"Yuta, get your head out the gutter." Jongin said from inside the kitchen, muffled because he was on break and eating chicken again.

The customer before him stared impatiently as he wrote down the order and instructed him to sit down while he made it. After giving her the order number and change, he hopped off the counter to get inside the kitchen through the sliding door.

He spotted Jongin watching a dance rehearsal in classical/hip hop fusion, a chicken wing halfway into his mouth. "You'll choke if you don't watch what you eat. Seriously, hyung."

He gets a hum in reply as he started assembling the ddeokbeokki and the chicken strips on top, dousing sesame seeds to complete it. He's learned to cook here and he really is glad he has some variety instead of just plain old ramen. (Not ramyun but ramen. There's nothing like the hearty broth soaking the noodles, topped with slices of meat and vegetables that mingled with the flavor. He liked the spiciness of ramyun but there is nothing like home. At least, as close to a home as it gets.)

The tray is set, pitcher of pink iced tea with an edible flower on the rim as he hauled it out to find the customer. He spotted the brown hair and not really Korean features. It's so easy to note the difference, something that he really isn't proud of. Being a foreigner here is hard especially the language barrier and the culture shock some go through when they first arrive. He was fairly okay when he migrated here, only with his suitcase and learning Korean from the passengers he sailed with, people who had been very kind.

"Here you go." he announced as he carefully put the tray down, the boy nodding in acknowledgement with the music from his ear-pods too loud to hear. He's rapidly typing on his phone, eyes moving and Yuta decided to leave him alone. He seemed like he was waiting for someone.

Yuta gets back on the counter in time for Jongin to come out the sliding door wiping his hands on a towel. They make eye contact as Jongin nods his head to take over. Yuta steps down the stool, heading to the back room where his belongings were to punch in his work hours for the day. He's tired and he hoped it didn’t show but one passing look on the mirror had him aware the dark circles under his eyes are more prominent.

Collecting is tiresome but not doing so is a different matter altogether.

Yuta rummaged through his bag, trying to find his water bottle to fill with some juice from the fridge. He found it was nice to pair with the cake he got from the cafe and he knew it wouldn't hurt to get some especially when Junmyeon himself always seemed to be drinking five to ten glasses of it every once in a while.

He took a sip and wonders why his vial is ice cold again.

He chalks it up as the freezer being cranked up to max again because of the ingredients inside.

ღ

"Hey! Yuta-hyung!"

Ten's voice is unmistakable, cheery as it did at dawn at three in the afternoon as if the drowsiness that often comes at this time doesn't affect him. Yuta is yawning for the third time, hand in his pocket to fish out his keys as Ten approached. His hands are covered in band-aids and plaster that Yuta didn't hesitate to say "Kittens a bit of handfuls?"

A mild shock crossed the younger's face but it is gone a second later. He feigns innocence as he held up his hands "Cooking while I was sick with the flu."

Yuta doesn't let his disbelief show as he smiled back, eyes glinting as he stared. He coughed into his hand "Yeah. Almost cut my arm once when I needed to chop the daikon."

He can see his shoulders' relax as he rubbed the nape of his neck "Well, hard to blame when your roommate is working on his thesis to stay in your apartment room," Ten sighed "Seriously. We used to hang out a lot but being busy with different schedules, it sort of feels like we drifted."

Yuta can already tell there is more to the story but he doesn't pry. He's been quite sensitive to how people felt that he can evade topics that were too personal to divulge, secrets they aren't keen on sharing. Then again, he doesn't want to invest lest he makes the mistake of-

He shakes his head to get rid of the thought. Instead, he reaches out before Ten can realize to pluck something off the collar of his sweater.

"Are you fond of cats?" he slyly says, almost laughing when Ten's whole body freezes at the sight of cat hair between his fingers. His eyes are moving in different directions as he formulated a lie. Yuta doesn't give him time to think of one and he clapped a hand on his back.

It doesn't ease Ten's tension as he almost caves to his knees."Cat got your tongue?" he delivers the cliché with mirth, arm locking behind Ten's head as he is so small to reach Yuta's height.

"Okay," a long, defeated sigh escaped the Thai's mouth as he gently pushed Yuta off "If you file against it, do it after I find them good homes-"

Yuta hums "Filing a complaint wouldn't benefit me anything," Ten raises a suspicious brow at him "Nor do I want to exploit you for my silence." A scowl appears on his lips, making him look a little less like a pixie and more a cat ready to bite. He raised his hands to placate him.

"Listen," Ten crossed his arms indignantly at him "The first time we met, I knew you were smuggling kittens. Honestly, am I the type to let that slide for a month?"

"I don't know. Are you?" Yuta chuckled at his response. He's having fun riling Ten for some reason.

"No. I like dancing and the rain-" Yuta stretched out his arms to show he was harmless but Ten cut him off.

"Dancing in the rain?"

The words echoed in Yuta's head. In a different time, in another's voice. It makes his smile freeze and he felt sweat on his palms from it. He really hates how easy it was that he rattled whenever it reminds him of moments he can't forget.

He's quick at letting some thoughts ago but it's harder with others. He's a master of being in tune with himself when needed but not when it strikes a chord within his mind.

"I haven't tried it yet." It's the truth. Endless thoughts of getting pneumonia, the ugly sensation of water sticking his clothes to his skin and having to dry his hair with a blower was tedious. But beyond that, beyond thinking of how rain is bad, it was a suggestion that began the end for him. The what-if turned to why-not that had him sacrifice a bigger part of what he shouldn't have.

Shaking his head, he turned his gaze back to Ten. "Can I meet your cats then?"

Ten's dumbfounded but leads him. Yuta was right; the room at the end of his hall was evacuated mostly because of faulty wiring. There are boxes piled all around the sides while leaving some space in the middle of the room for them to be able to stand in. Ten stooped down a little to move several newspapers draped on some boxes. It revealed a makeshift litter box with damp newspapers and he moved more so that Yuta can now see an overturned dish bowl with remnants of milk.

A distant meow echoed, muffled before there's the sound of padding as three small kittens came out from the corners of the room. A grey kitten rubbed past Yuta's feet as he meowed at Ten while its orange and white sibling stared at Yuta. The one kitten, black with white mittens, is picked up by Ten as he rubs behind its ears.

"They're loud."

His comment makes Ten laugh as he patted them on the head. He looked up to Yuta, smirking.

"I guess you can't complain if you're an accomplice, huh?"

"I guess so."

The orange kitten is moving closer to Yuta, sniffing around his pants’ leg before staring back again. He crouched down and his sudden movement makes it flinch. It stays and he gingerly touches the top of its head. Coarse fur and a little damp, probably from splashing in milk. He chuckled a bit as it slowly dragged its body against his hand, tail trailing behind. It's cute.

"You're a dancer, right?" Ten asked. Fixing the bowl properly, he puts the kitten back down. Then goes to fetch some milk from the corner where he hid it.

Yuta nodded absentmindedly, distracted by the kitten's purring. It vibrated through its thin body. Although it looked like it was skin and bones, its stomach is rounded. A sign of being fed properly and from the looks of it, it's been bathed too as he can't say it smelled that bad. Ten must have been really careful taking care of them.

"Maybe you'd like to watch this showcase that my roommate's classmate told me about before," Ten continued as he poured some milk on the bowl and the kittens scurried to it, licking in earnest "He wanted some people to cheer on them. It's not big but they're aspiring trainees it seems."

Yuta can't help his interest piquing, crouching to stare. Ten turns to him with a knowing look. It's scary.

"See you there, accomplice."

ღ

Firsts always leave a lasting impression.

The first time making friends, first day of school, first kiss. Not the firsts that come after the ends. The very first of something not done before. The beginning. The moments that can never be relived because the next time it happens, bracing yourself is easier. Because you know what happens that you can make an action to it or against it.

First love. First relationship. First heartbreak.

Yuta knows how much the first will hurt. Even collecting it has always gave Yuta pain from the miasma of confusion, prolonged agony and so much hope flushing down into despair.

His vial reacted differently from a first heartbreak. Maybe it's why those were when he really thought about the futility of life and rebirth when people continue finding ways to die without really dying. He doesn't care of the philosophy behind it. But he's particular when it happens. 

It's volatile. The liquid he collects from the first pain was akin to destructive chemicals, explosive when mishandled and the temperature varied. It was too cold to handle that he'd get frostbite or it could be so hot it would give him third degree burns. There were times he even tried to sample it and the agony he gained took him weeks to flush out. Why he did that, he didn't know. He doesn't remember much other than searing pain and crying tears that weren't his own.

So he should have realized.

When his vial acted during the time he met Mark, he thought it was the latter’s. The second time he thought it was the weather.

But when he met eyes with a boy at the end of the crowd and his vial turned ice cold again, he realized. Third time's the charm as he can feel his skin numbing again. It's strange to have such a reaction when the boy's too old to just have that feeling, making him wonder why he hasn't been collected yet.

Ten had long abandoned him to his own devices when he saw his roommate in the crowd. He can see has tiny frame twittering next to a tall, brown-haired guy who's pointing their other friends. He'd barged in Yuta's room by almost breaking the door down and saying they needed to be early if they wanted to see the full show. Yuta doesn't recall agreeing to go with him. But between sleepiness and the early morning chill, he lets it be. Putting on a denim jacket over an old t-shirt and jeans, he blended in the crowd. Ten was wearing cut off shorts and a long-sleeved shirt that Yuta wondered if he was going to perform too.

But this boy is overdressed. Amidst the t-shirts and sneakers, his bright yellow jacket swallows his frame and his black jeans are tucked into boots. Hair in disarray, the color of chestnut and red ears bitten with cold. He can see he's holding his phone up to record the surroundings, mostly the dances. He pointed his camera to where Yuta was, startling him as he moved deeper into the crowd to avoid it. Out of the corner of his eye, the boy put down his phone puzzled.

The programs halfway done and Yuta is still frazzled. He cautiously touched his vial and retracted his hand almost immediately. It's too hot now and he doesn't know what to make of it. The dancers distract him for a moment with their footwork, the rhythm they speak with their bodies and the expressions they make with every note. He watched the elegant curve of their hands as they twisted, the stomps and squeaks of their shoes. It's nostalgic. He bobbed his head to the beat. Perhaps it was nice he went here. Ten's in front with his roommate's arm looped around his shoulders loudly cheering. It's a cute sight with their height difference and Yuta hid his smile when he saw them press closer at the bass drop.

Reminded him of the simpler days.

He chuckled bitterly to himself and looked up when he felt someone's eyes on him. It could be the crowd, really. But when their eyes meet, he froze. Reflex maybe because he's used to blending with the crowd. Or maybe it's those eyes shining like beacons in the dark. It's strange. The last time he saw eyes like that, he had made a grave mistake. The boy is curious, tilting his head up to seem less small even at his height. Wisps of black hair fall over his forehead and pale lips press down like he just swallowed a lemon.

Yuta looked away.

When the show ended and he tried to find him, he was gone. Not a trace in the crowd as he trekked home alone. He didn't even realize he lost Ten in the crowd, too busy thinking what to do with the new information.

ღ

He's on the counter when he saw the foreigner boy from last time eating some bulgogi at the corner. He's not wearing earphones but he's looking at his phone again with a spoon sticking out. He's been coming a lot more lately and Yuta managed to get small talk from him once in a while when he puts down his phone. He's from China so Yuta nails the foreigner part, studying in the University a few blocks away and he picked the place because it was good and it was closest to a friend he needed to check up on once in a while. This piques Yuta's interest as he's always alone and asked him about it.

"The amount of lunch invites he turns down to get to the hospital is stellar," he huffs, annoyed at the person in his mind "Anyways, where's my kimchi fried rice?"

Yuta doesn't ask for his name because they are just casual people who want a conversation. He's sure that the other feels the same. He does call Yuta hyung when he said the age he looked right now and he can see that they have made a civil relationship as time went by. Yuta likes him because he isn't that complicated. He's straight to the point without caring about how he is perceived as long as the point is achieved.

Yuta goes to fetch the food when the bell chimes as the door opens. He's carrying the tray when he stops in his tracks, vial making a temperature drop as he spies the boy from before sitting with his acquaintance. It's a puffy navy blue coat this time buttoned to the neck and his bangs are held back by a pink headband. The tray is heavy so he can't just stand there. His acquaintance already saw him so he steels himself as he approached.

"As it seems, someone isn't letting me gossip about him."

Yuta chuckled. He looked at the boy who's staring at him with curiosity. There are bags under his eyes and his plump lips are chapped. He's unsure why he looked like he's been in air-conditioning 24/7. Their eyes meet and the boy's widened with recognition. The other boy doesn't notice as he digs in his rice.

Up close, he can see the fatigue clinging on the boy's fair skin. His other ear is a different shape from the other: elf-like that matches the way his lashes fan over his eyes. Yuta likens him to a child with the dumbfounded look he sported right now. It's almost cute.

"Seriously. I thought you would be stuck there forever-"

The boy shifted his gaze, glaring now. He cleared his throat to get the other's attention to no avail.

"We were just talking about you. I'm glad you're taking my advice to think for yourself instead for that-"

Yuta feels like he's about to go into a black hole with how he's just saying what he wants but it doesn't last long. A hand slams on the table that makes the eating boy halt.

"That's enough, gege."

His voice doesn't completely match his face. It's deep and grumbling, a man’s voice. His syllables are coated in another accent, not Korean and his words sound awkward. He sounded like a newly-born deer trying to walk with the way he spoke next.

“It’s…not polite. With the company,” he looked at Yuta pointedly “And you’re talking with your mouth full, Kun-gege.”

Kun snorted, not the least apologetic. He rolled his eyes even as he took another big bite and pointed the spoon at him “I’m tired of trying to haul you to school after you went to an all-night stakeout. It’s not healthy for either of us.”

“Well, who asked you to?” he snapped back, pressing his lips in a thin line.

“A ghost, a witch, who knows? Maybe I kind of need to. As your friend, Winwin.”

Winwin. A strange name. It could be a nickname, Yuta thought and as he just stood there invested in the scene, he barely hears Jongin call him back for a customer. He doesn’t really pay attention at all until he’s hauled by the back of his shirt collar and dragged away.

Jongin looked furious. “Come on. Gossip later after work.”

Yuta chuckled quietly before he let his gaze linger on Winwin, a solemn look overcoming his face as Kun said something he couldn’t hear.

It doesn’t leave his mind even when they both leave after an hour, Kun holding onto Winwin’s arm like he’s stopping him. The younger (based on how Kun kept scolding him that it seemed to be the case) looked over his shoulder as if sensing his stare, nodding in acknowledgement as they left the door. He almost spilled the pitcher on the table because he couldn’t concentrate. It was odd and as he touched his vial for comfort, he can feel the chilliness of it slowly seep away to its normal temperature. It’s not him to just run after someone to ask them about their life story but there’s a storm brewing inside Winwin and he’s making an exception.

Why is he making an exception? The question lingers in his mind even as he went home with nothing but his heart beating a little too fast.

ღ

The dance classes were the last place that Yuta expected to see Winwin.

He’s never noticed him before in any of them. Or maybe he wasn’t in them in the first place. The possibilities run over his mind as he sits at the side watching with interest. Winwin is dressed down in his tight shirt and baggy sweatpants, tying the shoelaces of his sneakers that had come undone while he did kicks that could reach his head. The tiredness isn’t there this time. Just complete focus, body taut as if to ease whatever he’s feeling. The other dancers don’t seem to notice Yuta’s ogling as they chatter amidst themselves.  This one boy who he remembered was called Yukhei went to Winwin and spoke softly, a relieved expression over his mature face. Winwin replied curtly, forcing a smile.

There’s displeasure next as he stumbled on his feet and Yukhei has to hold his waist to stop him from falling. More words are exchanged, heated even in the low volume as Winwin pushed the other way and gathered his things.

“Hyung, this isn’t healthy.” Yukhei hissed, making some swivel their heads at him. Yuta, included, if he wasn’t already so invested in why there was so much drama going on between them.

“And I thought you were mature enough to mind your own business,” Winwin retorted as he reached for the door “This was a mistake.”

“So you’re choosing to just stand by a corpse and play the victim when it’s not always going to be about you! Real mature of you, gege!” Yukhei hasn’t realized he’s switched to Chinese pronouns now, eyes watering from his anger.

Winwin stomped his foot down, teeth gritted as he barked “At least I don’t fucking leave when everyone has finally given up!”

The very words seemed to affect Yukhei as he stilled and averted his eyes. He didn’t even stop the elder as he walked out with a slam on the door. Yuta notices then the silence that came, staring around the room before another boy, soft-looking and puppy-like, yelled “Show’s over! Get back to practice, everyone.”  It did the trick; the music filtered back as the squeaking of shoes and the rhythmic sound of synchronized counting returned. Yukhei exchanged words with the boy that yelled as the later bumped shoulders with him in a semblance of comfort. The sight was too private for Yuta, averting his eyes as he stood up. He headed for the door, wondering if Winwin went home.

He hoped he didn’t stray too far though.

So it was a pleasant surprise to find the boy sitting on the stairs next to the fire exit, holding a cigarette between his lips.

Yuta slowly made his way towards him, noting that he’s wearing that puffy yellow jacket again. His eyes are closed as he took a long drag, blowing out wispy smoke that clung around him like a halo. There’s something strange about the sight, in a fucked up sense, of his innocent face smoking but Yuta laughed to himself. His vial is already dropping temperature before it spiked and he whipped his head to catch Winwin wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. With shaky fingers, he took out his phone to type something before it slipped out of his grasp. There’s a slight struggle before it came to the point the device slid right at Yuta’s feet.

Well, shit. 

Winwin flinched as his eyes raked from where his phone was up to Yuta’s face, eyes filled with questions. Then he glared at the realization that Yuta’s seen his tears and stomped over. He kept their eyes on each other until he was a few inches from him, warmth making Yuta’s vial pulse in a rapid change of tepid and cold. Winwin snapped down to pick up his phone and pocketing before he pointed a finger on Yuta’s chest.

“Not a word,” He hissed then stepped back, turning his head to look at the corner for other eavesdroppers. Winwin bit his lip, Yuta’s gaze landing there unconsciously before he snarled and jabbed his finger at Yuta’s chest again, emphasizing his next words “I don’t know what they’re putting you up but-Ow!”

Winwin snatched his hand back, cradling it close to his chest as he stretched his pointer finger. Yuta belatedly realized that he had touched his vial and pursed his lips. The other boy is close to punching him with how venomous he looked but he took a sharp breath through his nose and tilted his chin up in defiance.

One could argue that Yuta didn’t like it, mostly because he looked like a bristled cat. “Careful where you point that. I’m here because I thought maybe you needed some comfort.” The words he spoke only caught up to him when Winwin’s eyebrows furrowed and he gritted his teeth, jaw tense at the misunderstanding of what Yuta wanted.

“You freak.” He hissed before he walked past Yuta, shoulder knocking against his hard enough he took a step back. The tension on his shoulders was more apparent when Yuta stared at his retreating back and he didn’t look away until Winwin rounded the corner out of his sight. Only then did he slide down to clutch his vial, staring at the frost inside the glass that he decided maybe he should be careful what he does around Winwin. Seeing the changes in his vial made him worry for him. It’s not new. Yuta desperately wished he didn’t care.

It’s like history repeating itself in a slow deliberate clap.


	2. Thief of Innocence

Yuta visits the hospital once a month.

It’s become a habit, really. He’s not a fan of the sterile smell that came with the unsettling white walls, the strange despair that clings through the hallways as he passed and no matter how clean it seemed, there’s filth that hung in the air to remind him that people die here where they needed to be cured.

He doesn’t know the sentiment. Death’s a luxury he can’t afford with his nonexistent lifespan.

But he’s here for a visit. It’s not that time of the month for him to have an existential crisis. Yuta’s always been accepting of how he hasn’t aged, the greetings given to him from the past only white noise as the years went by and every celebration only marked another lifetime he has to see people with their hearts ripped and him not even understanding. It’s still a mystery why people think with the chemicals rushing to their brains instead of their cognitive reasoning. The primitive part must have been deluded that they cannot survive without a partner.

Yuta let his steps echo against the tiles, boots heavier with each step as he approached the room at the end.

The bronze nameplate has “Lee Taeyong” emblazoned on it and he wistfully ran his fingers across it.

A beautiful name, he once said and an even more beautiful heartache he carried.

Yuta chuckled to himself at the thought. He went inside, careful that the key he slid and unlocked the door with wasn’t loud for anyone who watched over Taeyong to notice. He let the door open enough so he can squeeze his body in, closing it just as quiet.

Maybe in another lifetime, Yuta would have fallen for someone like Taeyong. The first time he laid eyes on him in the cold air of a January morning, he almost thought that Jack Frost had visited him. It’s been over two years, he recalled since Lee Taeyong had cried on his shoulder because of his uncertainty in what to do with his life. But there’s no trace of that liveliness that was present in him, just a shadow of the unrealistic visual he presented. His hair, once silver, had been washed off to ensure the chemicals wouldn’t do him damage, the sickly pallor of his skin making his features sunken and the dark bags under his eyes were only making him look worse.

The steady bleeping of the monitor is the only thing that reminded others he was alive.

For Yuta, it was the thrum of heat from his vial. It glowed once and then another, like fairy lights blinking. Like a heartbeat that synchronized with the heart monitor.

There wasn’t anyone today. Though, Yuta has made sure to always ask the front desk if anyone visited. They knew him only because he was the one who got Taeyong into the hospital, keeping quiet and mostly making up the excuse that he was a family friend estranged. Yuta’s helped with the bills sometimes, the little credit card Taeyong had let him keep withdrawn half the amount needed leaving Taeyong’s parents bewildered but grateful. Yuta laughed when the nurses often gossiped he might be a secret boyfriend but stopped when they seem to shift their attention to another visitor of Taeyong’s.

Taeyong’s been in a coma for two years and he had a steady line of visitors ranging from friends to family.

Yuta chose to avoid them all.

He stood next to the bed, placing a hand on his vial and the other atop Taeyong’s forehead. His skin is cold and clammy from air-conditioning but Yuta feels warmth that seeped back as he touched him.

It’s disconcerting for him to see Taeyong’s mind. It’s dark and full of cracks, light filtering out of them but not enough to see the whole area. Yuta doesn’t really get why he’s refusing to wake up even when he wanted to, the foot prints that glowed neon leading to exits but returning back to where the other usually is in his mind space. It’s confirmed when he spotted the familiar outline of a man, arms around their knees as they hooked their chin to their knees.

Taeyong is wearing pajamas, dark blue and violet swirling like a galaxy with constellations dotting the fabric. His head raised up when he sensed Yuta as he usually does, waiting for him to continue this routine. The way they communicated was through thoughts because once when Yuta talked out loud back in the real world, the nurses gave him some pills to help with whatever condition he had.

“This is ridiculous.”

“Good day.” Taeyong spoke, curt before he resumed to staring at the rather cracked part of this mind space. He’s still not talking a lot, not even asking questions like Yuta expected him to the first month he visited. He just sits there, contemplating. It’s even a miracle he started speaking to him the year after but it’s mostly to say he wasn’t going to wake up. Yuta, who didn’t really want to have another routine that can mess with his somewhat normal life, had tried to make him see that this was not the answer to his problems and that he was just hurting more people.

Yuta wished Taeyong wasn’t smart enough to throw those words back to his face.

“Taeyong. You’re going to shrivel up like a raisin if you continue this.” Yuta says kinder this time as he sat down beside the other’s shivering form.

The boy smiled at him. It doesn’t reach his eyes so he touched the vial around Yuta’s neck. It reacted, turning murky and burned, Taeyong not caring as blisters appeared on his fingers. Yuta wondered if he felt pain here then what happened back to his body. Because with the way that he always touched the vial when he visited, his fingers would’ve been fucked up.

“You need to leave,” Taeyong sighed as he let go, staring down at the splotches of red before they vanished as fast as they came “He’ll back and I really don’t want him near you.”

Yuta cocked a brow at him. It’s new for him to ask him to leave. He’s been the type to just let Yuta stay as much as the latter wanted because it was annoying to push him out. Draining too but because Yuta’s stubborn as hell, he really doesn’t want to waste energy. So of course, Yuta is curious. “Who?”

“Please,” Taeyong stared into his eyes, the conviction in his eyes startling him for a moment “He doesn’t need to let you take his too.”

With these words, Yuta jostled back to consciousness. He took a step back and wiped a sweat from his brow, sighing deeply at the heaviness in his chest. The vial in his hand turned cold and he distinctly heard the lock on the door turning. Without much thought, he went straight to the window and climbed over the railing of the fire exit. He ducked down to ensure he wouldn’t be seen. He prayed that the guards would take it like he was smoking and not that he was breaking in. The footsteps grew closer, the door is closed and Yuta hears some people talking. He can’t fully make out the words but he does hear the frustration and sadness in their voice.  The sounds continue for a while, shuffling and the windows drawn further back that made him duck until his chest touched the floor.

“Did you apologize to him?” Kun’s voice is so familiar that Yuta stopped the gasp from coming out his mouth. He clapped a hand over it just in case as he listened “That wasn’t personal and you know it.”

The other person’s voice is too far away but he caught the sigh of “You don’t get it-“

“Winwin. Your jacket is inside out, your hair is greasy because you didn’t bathe again and you’ve been drinking too much coffee when you don’t even like it,” Kun said, remorseful “It’s a problem.”

Yuta’s sure glad his hand muffled the sharp intake of breath he just made. The other person, Winwin, moved closer to where Kun was leaning and he looked up to see fingers poking out the opened windowsill. God, if he looked down, he would know. Then what? Call him a stalker again? It’s bad enough they got off the wrong foot but this will send it plummeting. If the police were involved, it would become apparent that Yuta’s records were faked and he would be deported.

His thoughts are interrupted when Winwin started crying. It’s not loud per say but the small hiccups startle him, trying his hardest to crane his neck to get a glimpse of him. It doesn’t work but the vision he conjured makes his heart clench.

“I just want him to wake up. I want to be there when he does.”

“I know. But he wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

“Is it hard to understand I just want Taeyong-hyung back?”

Kun scoffed, walking around before stopping at the right distance to say “It’s not your fault. Stop beating yourself up when you came back just because it would be easier to deal with him like this,” the irritation in Kun’s tone is baffling and Yuta held his vial for comfort “Because you stopped running the moment he chose to be in a situation he can’t give an answer to.”

“That’s a lie.” Winwin muttered.

“You make all lies seem true, Winwin.”

Yuta decided that he doesn’t want to hear anymore of this. He crawled towards the stairs as quietly as he could, hand around his vial despite the frigid coldness it took once more and rushed down to the other emergency exit window that belonged to the nurse’s station. The absence of people made it easier for him to slip through, huffing as he waved at the one in the reception desk. She stared at him in confusion. There must be rust stains on his jacket and leaves in his hair but he can’t really care right now.

“You’re out earlier than expected.” She remarked, tilting her head. She’s new, curious like the others had been so Yuta lets it slide. Even though they were recently hired, the older nurses and doctors who knew Yuta would tell them about him. That’s why the rumors were prevalent with wandering eyes and loose tongues.

Smiling, he leaned down to get the complimentary brochures they kept. “Something came up. Keep me updated?” he winked at her.

She blushed, giggling behind her hand. But her expression turned serious as she leaned closer so only Yuta could hear “There’s this boy that stays with your friend a lot lately. Do you think he’s alright?”

Yuta flashed back to Winwin, putting the pieces together. No, he doesn’t know about their relationship. He can’t even recall Taeyong telling him about Winwin either because the only name he has heard was a name he can’t properly speak because it was of another language. A name spoken in whispers, as if an intimate secret Taeyong wished to keep. The idea of Winwin and Taeyong’s relationship, their connection to one and another that Taeyong would not want them to speak as well as how Winwin’s behavior suggested that they were close-

-maybe too close that Yuta doesn’t want to dwell.

He left the hospital, steps heavy and a discomfort settling between his ribs.

ღ

“Hey, mind if I join you?”

Winwin turned his face away from his phone, eyebrows furrowed as he stared at him from across the table. Yuta’s holding a bowl of jjapchae on one hand and a full pitcher of blue iced tea he ordered for himself. Junmyeon was raising a brow at him from his office, surprisingly present today for some reason. It’s not a novelty for him to take a day off but Yuta’s made it clear he does get sick of free food here that he’d eat some fast food for lunch. But he considered it a win-win (he snorted at the word, reminding him of the boy infront of him) situation. Jongin is working closer with the part-time chef, wide eyes and heart-shaped lips who made a mean kimchi spaghetti whose Jongin’s mentor in his school’s publication.

Anyways, Winwin shrugged. He took it as an agreement and put down the items. They were heavy because he made sure to pull his special card on Jongin to give him more helpings. He put the jjapchae between them and helped himself to a cup of the ice tea.

“So where’s my dear friend today?”

“Who?”

Yuta chuckled at the offended look on the boy’s face.”Kun? He’s a regular here. Been a while since he came though.” A week after his unseen encounter with them, Kun had seemed to not frequent the restaurant. He does see him walking by from time to time but he looked deep in thought as he marched on.

There’s a hint of annoyance in Winwin’s face, vindictive even as he stuck his nose up “I don’t trust you.” He sneered, words cutting sharp against Yuta’s defenses.

But to be fair, they got off the wrong foot. He tells him that much, using that healing smile he’s perfected after charming Japanese grandmothers to giving him some treats back in his travels. It threw Winwin off for a second, eyes softening as Yuta said “I don’t know what you have with Yukhei or whatever you’re going through but I want to know you and that should be enough.”

Winwin sighed, wringing his fingers together and leaned his chin on them. Up close, he looked ethereal. Tired with his skin having red spots probably from lack of sleep but the darkness of his eyes drew Yuta in like a moth to a flame. “It’s not your business.”

“I’m making it. Kun’s-“

The mirth is gone. Winwin’s face hardened with the tension on his jaw painful to watch. Yuta really should check whether his banter is needed or his honesty. There are walls erected inside his gaze as he stood up, the food he paid for forgotten and he stood up “Good day, sir.” He said curtly and Yuta’s vial is cold again.

Winwin’s retreating back as he slammed the door on his way out made Yuta choke on every bite of the jjapchae

 

Junmyeon saw the entire thing from the CCTV, he realized. The pale man wasted no time to call him to his office when he saw that he was leaving. It’s nothing short of surprising when Junmyeon bursts out his door to call Yuta over so they can chat inside. He’s nervous, wiping his brow with a silk handkerchief that he always carried around. It’s one of the unusual quirks he’s noticed; the assortment of the handkerchief with different colors but the same embroidery, Chinese letters in gold or sometimes silver that he can’t understand. It makes him think back to the strange man who pulled him here and tries to make sense of it. His vial reacts to Junmyeon sometimes, confusing him to no end. It’s that fluctuating warmth and tepid temperature that he chalked to Junmyeon being single for too long.

Like now, it’s fluctuating again. Warm and cozy then burning hot. He doesn’t want to take chances right now as the elder lets him sit on the leather plush seat in front of his fancy desk. The monitors for the cameras that cover the outside and inside of the camera gleam behind him as he settled to his own chair. Yuta stared at the images of Kyungsoo making food as Jongin watches while some other part-timer mans the counter before Junmyeon cleared his throat.

“I am hoping that this wasn’t an inconvenience…” he trailed off, awkwardly moving his hands like he doesn’t know what to do with them “But was there a problem with that boy? Anything that might need legal help?”

Yuta muffled the bark of laughter that escaped with a hand, wiping his mouth to hide his slip up “Pardon?”

“A lover’s spat perhaps? I mean, I don’t judge whatever your romances are because trust me being walked out on? Relatable.” The embarrassed flush on Junmyeon’s face only seemed to worsen that it crept down his neck at his own slipup. Yuta would have let him off the hook easily if not for the realization at why his vial is reacting that way. He doesn’t know what to say at first but he chalked up the courage to let the words slip.

“Scorned partner?” The ring that rested inconspicuously on its velvet box is on a glass case at the corner of the room, abandoned but not forgotten is what he turned to for a minute. Yuta’s pretty sure the first thing that anyone would notice would that gold band with diamonds encrusted on it. It’s big, too big for Junmyeon’s dainty fingers so he wondered if the owner must have been a tall individual. He’s not going to guess whether it was man or woman. It is not his place.

So he returned his gaze to the owner, cursing inwardly because his staring was noticed. Junmyeon looked wistful, eyes glassy as he stared at it too. Then he blinked and the vision is shattered as he donned that poker face he kept when he wanted the matter to be left alone. Junmyeon’s a businessman first and foremost; keeping up a façade comes easy when you’re trying to fool everyone else.

“No,” he replied coldly “But I always try to understand others, Yuta-ssi. The minute you barged in my store, I tend to question how you found this place. I’m grateful for your help here, truly. But one does wonder what brought you here.”Yuta gulped, eyes shifting to the ground. The truth is settling at the tip of his tongue to confess to him how he was dragged by some stranger but Junmyeon continued.

“Honestly, to tell you the truth, that day someone did walk out on me. A business partner who I thought was my friend,” Joonymyun’s closing his eyes, whatever memory he is reminiscing too much for him to look at Yuta “But it seemed that we didn’t meet eye to eye so he chose to leave in the middle of our argument. Haven’t seen him since.” The words came out angrier than he expected, rising in volume until Junmyeon clasped his hands over his mouth to stop it.

There are so many emotions running through his face so Yuta cleared his throat. He didn’t want to stress Junmyeon more than he already is over such a little thing. “It’s alright. I understand. No other supernatural reason for me to be here. It’s not some divine intervention.”

They laughed a little. It diffused the tension, the thought of losses forgotten for a short while. Yuta stared at the live feed behind Junmyeon then narrowed his eyes. There’s a figure standing under one of the cameras, tall enough that he might reach over to touch it. He’s so familiar-looking, dark trench coat and boots covering him from head to toe and sunglasses he hadn’t take off yet. He stared at the camera…No. He was looking right through it, right at Yuta.

“Do you need to head off?”

Junmyeon’s voice made him jolt. He blinked and the man was gone, letting out a sigh of relief he didn’t know he was holding. “I have to get home.” He admitted. He needed to feed the cats when he got back because Ten needed to pull an all-nighter at a friend’s house. He had taped a sticky note on Yuta’s door earlier, impossible to ignore at how the bright blue contrasted with his bland door.

Junmyeon smiled at him, angelic and it’s sad to think about anyone hurting him.

Yuta wondered if the universe conspired or there’s someone pulling strings to stay as close as possible to the one thing they can’t reach.

 

Yuta walked up the stairs, hiding the cans of cat food he brought inside his jacket away from sight. He’s not afraid of getting kicked out when there are other apartments he can move to but he doesn’t want to see the kittens get thrown away. They could survive out on their own if they were older but right now, the image of tiny bodies as they tried to run the busy streets of Seoul gave him a near heart attack. He went to the unoccupied apartment, closing it behind him when he heard the fast approach of tiny paws from under the cardboard boxes. The orange and white kitten is tumbling right into his shoe, shaking its head before pawing at his laces. The grey one is walking back and forth where he had the plastic bag suspended between his fingers. The black with white mittens is yawning on his perch, waiting for the food.

“Alright, alright.” He muttered as the orange kitten licked at his shoe again. He took out the cans, thankful they were those easy to open kinds and took only a minute to place the awful-smelling reddish brown slop onto the large bowl he got from the pet store. The three immediately went for the kill, crowding as they started to eat. Yuta smiled as he placed another can, the orange kitten licking his hand and he withdrew in surprise. They do have sandpaper tongues it seemed.

He left them to clean the container for the milk, replacing it with water so they can drink from it. “I really should give you names. It’s hard to call for you this way,” He chuckled, running a finger on top of the grey one’s head, receiving a hiss in return “Okay, hissy fit. I get it.

The orange kitten went to drink water, licking its chops as it took another gulp. “You’re a cute orange. Like a Clementine.” He nodded. That’s what he’s calling it mostly because this one always liked him better. It meowed in approval at its new name. He watched the black with white mittens finish eating before jumping onto the stack of boxes, scratching on a smaller box with rips on its side. A makeshift scratching post. Smart thing.

“Clementine, I’ll let Ten name your siblings. It won’t be fair if I name you all.” He whispered, rubbing its head.

The other kittens meowed, maybe in protest. Jealous, perhaps and Yuta stuck his tongue at them.

Yuta left when the kittens were starting to tire out from exploring. Clementine had even grown bored just sitting on his lap so it stretched before slinking into the spaces between the boxes. Its siblings followed, shuffling dying down after a few moments. Yuta carried his garbage with him and discarded it. Changing out of the clothes covered in cat hair, he made some dinner with what’s left of his groceries. He might need to restock soon but he’s too tired to make the list. When the dishes were cleaned and he made some tea to fend off the cold, he sat on the couch. It’s been a long day. Yuta thought back to Junmyeon and the way his vial reacted to him. He touched it, rolling it between his fingers. Even if he hasn’t collected Junmyeon, he can’t force out the fact that there’s a lingering presence of collection in him.

Maybe there’s another. He clutched his vial closer at the thought of someone like him that could give him some answers. Does he even want to know though? There’s doubt creeping into his mind like a cloud and he finished his tea, leaning back on the couch.

He didn’t even move up to get to bed and fell asleep with muddled thoughts.

ღ

There were things he had yet to understand about life.

Granted, he’s never been the type to dwindle on passing thoughts. They slipped between his mind like a surging river, moving into the sea to settle and be forgotten. At times, he did wonder. He thought about the cherry blossoms blooming in late Spring, pink petals fluttering down to rest against his hair. They were always so superficial to him because he’s seen the cycle so many times he’s lost the essence of their meaning. In winter, he’d pass by the collection of barren trees in the bleak white surroundings and wonder what was it all for?

Yuta didn’t understand fate or the very workings of the universe as they thrust him into a life he never had full grasp of, moving through time like a relic and watching everything change except him.

It was during spring where he met someone under the Cherry blossoms. The night had been starless, where the only light to guide him was the lantern he carried as he walked down the beaten path. Today, it’s been turned to concrete with a red fence erected to guide the road. Beside it were rows of cherry blossom trees lining the riverbank, water tinted with the floating pink petals. The red bridge was up ahead and Yuta wanted to get back to his hut as soon as possible. There was a warning from the woman who owned the dango shop adjacent the place he worked that tonight was dangerous. Yuta doesn’t believe in superstition yet the way the wrinkly woman in her off white kimono whispered about cherry blossoms being gateways for spirits, he felt the chill down his spine remain.

His heart is beating faster, the sound of his wooden slippers slapping against the ground and the swaying leaves only fueling his paranoia. He pulled the collar of his kimono closer. The wind is picking up but he’s almost at the bridge now. It could be a trick of the darkness or his mind that when he peeked at the corner of his eye, someone was standing under the cherry blossoms.

He stopped. To this day, he wondered if he was compelled to do that. His mind was a flurry of tired thoughts, warm bed waiting for him and he steeled himself as he slowly turned.

There’s a woman standing, staring at the cherry blossoms falling down to the water. She’s too close to the edge of the bank, her peach kimono reaching the ground. At that time, what made Yuta’s blood run cold was her hair. Nowadays it was believable for Asians to get that color, even vibrant hues that Yuta always admired. But back then, people who didn’t look like the rest were considered anomalies.

So he made a noise at the back of his throat. Her head moved, slowly looking over her shoulder in a way that was too inhumane. Eyes cast down, they stared back at him. Her hair was tied in a bun with intricate flower ornaments; the red butterflies stitched on the hem of her sleeves and dress surprisingly well-made. It spoke of wealth. But her face is too pale that it makes her seem…dead. Yuta’s rooted to the spot, staring. She tilted her head forward, mouth moving but no words came out. There’s a sudden gust of wind that made him cover his face as it blew cherry blossoms petals to his face.

A hand brushed against his nape, jolting him forward with a yelp and he heard “You’re all alone like me. Poor little heart collector.”

He whipped his hands around him and saw that he’s at the bridge, staring down at the water where petals have clustered at the sides. There’s a clammy feeling on his fingertips and the smell of peaches clinging that he swallowed the lump in his throat and hightailed to his hut to pack his things. It didn’t help that there were cherry blossoms sticking to his neck when he changed.

He burned that kimono along with his hut when he left.

Yuta is afraid that what she said was his fate. The times he’d visit libraries and read about old sayings, he’d find something about a woman in the early times that would wait under cherry blossoms to tell people their fortune. An old wives’ tale that often ended in death and misery that has changed over the years as spirits passing by crossroads and you can ask your future by using a comb. He’s been less believing of the spirit world as time passed. But Yuta’s the one with a vial that showed someone’s heartache and collected it.

Who was he to disprove?

 

“Your red string,” someone said from behind him, voice sweet and soft “It’s barely holding on.”

Yuta almost dropped the pitcher as he whipped his head at the sound. He gulped, putting on a smile as he approached the table where he heard the sound. A lone woman sat on one of the more secluded tables, away from the cameras, hands clasped with her chin resting on them. Her blonde hair tied in a high bun is almost white in the light, pink lips parted in a smile. But there’s the way her eyes are filled with unsaid words that Yuta bit his lip out of nervousness.

She was glowing. Too different that every time he blinked, she seemed to become two images before reconnecting to the person before him. He wiped his eye with his free hand. He’s hallucinating again. It’s almost as if he can see her shadow flickering, laughing at him.

“It’s been so long, young one.” Her voice is smooth as silk “Do you think you have learned what must be learnt?” she taunts.

Yuta chuckled nervously, feigning ignorance “Has your order been taken, ma’am? If not, I can-“

She stopped him with a pale well-manicured hand. Her eyes narrow a little but her smile remained. The ornaments in her hair are familiar, he mused. Perhaps he’s seen it before in the mall in the women’s accessories. Or he was just lying to himself at this point.

“Did you take a boat trip or just did some weird hocus pocus to get here?” he snapped, smiling to make it less obvious.

“Who knows and who has time to wonder?” she returned with a grin so unnatural it looked like her face was going to split.

There’s that strange coldness that crawls down his spine again. He can barely breathe but he gritted his teeth to hide his panic. She’s not here to hurt him, he hopes but from the last time he’s seen her, she hasn’t really been a good omen. He recalled long nights hearing voices and thinking the shadows were following him.

His vial is always there to shine a light and now with her presence, it is not even reacting. She has no heart that his vial can detect. Fear is but an illusion she presents with the stories he’s heard. An allegory that has become real because of his own belief that she wants something from him that he doesn’t even know about.

“Who are you?” he asked, sitting down and ignoring the pleased look on her face “Why are you here after all those years?”

She leaned closer, fingers reaching to touch Yuta’s chin. He doesn’t move. “You’re doing a great job in collecting. It’s your gift to take away the pain, hm?” Her touch drifted down, tracing the string before grasping the vial and Yuta almost jolts “Calm down.”

The vial is shifting colors, gold in a sea of black. It’s strange. Stranger than even his own existence.

“This is not yours,” she whispered in a tone he can’t decipher “It’s aided you for this past two years, a pain so great they gave it up willingly. Such youth wasted so that he cannot feel such burden. It’s yours, for now.”

He grabbed it out of her hand, surprised by his own action. Every beat of his heart is resonating in his ear, breaths coming out like gasps when the air seemed so thin. The patrons of the restaurant are oblivious to what was going on while just the thought of her slips their minds because she made it so. Her attention is on him.

Her words vibrated to his very soul, disconcerting and dark “And with that burden include the source.”

 Yuta launched himself out of his chair but she grabbed his wrist before he could make a run for it. It’s not hard enough to bruise, just enough to keep him still. She stared at him, head titled like a mirror to the one in his past. “Are you trying to read my fortune again?”

“Last time wasn’t your fortune,” she giggled “That was the truth.”

“How do you even remember-“

“That time,” she cut him off smoothly, forcing him to sit back down “You were supposed to fall into the water and drown.”

“Thanks for the peace of mind.” Yuta muttered bitterly.

She laughed “But this time, I’m here because your fraying red string led me here. It’s strange that death will follow you if you continue with your vial’s contents.”

He couldn’t help it. He laughed louder than he should, hands slapping the table top with vigor. The blond girl smiled serenely, amused at him as he continued laughing for a good minute. When it was too much, he calmed down and clutched his stomach. A tear slipped out his eye and he wiped it before saying “You’re kidding, uh, whatever spirit you are.”

“Hm. You can call me Momo. Isn’t it fair, Yuta? We’re going to be meeting again after all.”

“You’re stretching my patience then, _Momo._ ” He emphasized with a grit of his teeth.

Momo taped her cheek in thought. Then stood up and leaned close to Yuta again to look him straight in the eye. Her pupils are milky white with blue lining, eerily glowing. “There’s a tragedy amidst. The heart is weaker than the body and with every collection, the one whose heartache you hold shall forever be trapped in his sorrow. His demise is your undoing as is yours is the end of someone else’s. Be careful who you let inside your head,” her breath washed over his cheek like frostbite “Before you lose it.”

She pulled away with her eyes back to their normal color. She walked away in a graceful manner, light and airy as if her feet never touched the ground. He’s not really sure with her long skirt that reached the floor, peach-hued just like her kimono before.

Distantly, he remembered what Momo meant and the smell of her sweet perfume only fueled it.

 

Yuta is exhausted from everything.

It’s been a routine lately with his schedule getting more crowded as the days went by. He visited the kittens with Ten every now and then, worked overtime at the shop because he was keeping an eye on Junmyeon and attending the dancing lessons where he’d wait for Winwin to come. It’s been a while since their spat and he has been meaning to apologize. It’s out of his comfort zone to approach someone let alone apologize but Winwin was right about him prying. He hasn’t been this nosy since- he doesn’t finish the thought but safe to say, it’s been a while since he’s tried to reach out to someone.

But Winwin never come. He’s a little worried, often glancing at Yukhei because the kid seemed as upset as he did when he realized the boy didn’t attend again. Jungwoo was the one Yuta approached to ask about Winwin but the soft-spoken boy merely shake his head. He envied the two sometimes especially when Jungwoo would touch Yukhei’s shoulder when he looked conflicted and you can visibly see him loosen up. Yukhei had an air of arrogance with him that’s not from youth. It’s not even pride but mostly carelessness that he wants to give people the benefit of the doubt but also seeing their worst. Jungwoo’s not much of a talker but he’s good at standing ground yet looking like he can barely cause harm and attract people’s attention easily. Then there’s the unspoken closeness that Yuta wished he can forget.

So he danced. The tension built up inside him as he followed the steps on the side, popping and locking it without much finesse and just letting out the bother that’s nestled inside his bones. He almost hit the mirror when he kicked up for a turn, his vial almost cracking his collarbone when it bounced with his strength.

Yuta’s limbs felt like lead when he went home after that, mind reeling from Momo’s words and fiddling with his vial. Her touch has tainted it somehow with the gold clinging at the bottom of it. It doesn’t make sense that she knew about whose heart was in his vial when he hasn’t even talked about it to anyone. Morality wasn’t part of her being and she might have said it to gain a reaction from him. Yet her precision, the conviction in her voice as she warned him…it was like a soothsayer trying to warn him of the tides.

Winwin came to his mind, the relation he has-had who knows-with Taeyong and why he religiously stays by his side. He needs answers.

Perhaps he needed to go back to the hospital.

Taeyong might be easier to coax to talking this time around.

ღ

The nurse who is checking Taeyong’s vitals this time around is a cat-eyed male named Jinyoung. He’s quieter than the female nurses who fawn over him when he came, too busy fixing the dextrose tube and writing on his clipboard. The stare he gets is uncomfortable, especially when their eyes meet and Jinyoung’s eyebrow quirked. Yuta’s unsure if he’s wanted here to be honest but he smiled nonetheless.

Jinyoung left the room with an “I’ll bring some sheets after an hour” and Yuta’s alone again.

He turned his attention to the sleeping male and huffed. Taeyong’s looking thinner again because they needed to pump food in him through a tube, hair stiff from the lack of bathing and he knew that bruises were forming where his body molded with the mattress. It’s pitiful.

“You’re really getting in my nerves.” Yuta muttered to himself, lowering himself so he can stare at Taeyong face to face. He poked his cheek thrice, digging his nail the third time just to see if it would help convey his annoyance. No reaction. It wasn’t as if he was getting any in the first place so Yuta only felt worse. “I hope you tell me something good today, you ugly spaghetti.” He hissed as he placed his hand on his vial-

It burned, making him yelp the same time as someone behind him screeched out a “What the hell are you doing here?” Yuta would be embarrassed how he jolted away from Taeyong like he was contagious if not for Winwin who’s brandishing the bottle of coke in his hand like a weapon.

There was never a better timing, he thought in sarcasm. He raised his arms in surrender and smiled pleasantly “This is a surprise?” he asked more than said, trying to seem casual. Winwin isn’t lowering his stance. Instead he raised his bottle higher as he rounded Yuta to stand beside Taeyong.

“This is harassment.” The younger hissed, his shoulders drawn. It’s been awhile since he’s thought of the strange man who saw him crying after Yukhei scolded him. He hasn’t really thought if meeting him again especially after the time he brought up Kun’s name. Winwin didn’t know what Kun has been yapping to strangers but it wouldn’t be any good to entice pity when he didn’t want it.

Yuta pouted, putting a hand to his cocked hip as he raised a brow. This kid was really rude. “I’m pretty sure there aren’t rules with visiting friends. That’s stupid of you to assume.”

Winwin flinched, head hanging. It didn’t cross his mind that Yuta knew Taeyong. The elder was always friendly but at this point, he’s familiar with who would visit him. His old dance team have either started careers or moved overseas and his family had decided to only visit once a month. It’s hard to see their son like this without the thought he might never wake up. Kun’s visited only to tow Winwin out of his weekly hermit lifestyle to get some sunlight. There’re the others who always seemed to come only when he wasn’t; the flowers and the nurses’ stories about them the only evidence they came. Winwin wanted to see them. He just didn’t want it to happen so suddenly so he just smiles when the nurse tells him about them.

There is still someone he doesn’t want to fight with right now.

So Yuta visiting is likely. But Winwin doesn’t even know how they met. It’s making him uncomfortable because he’s not stupid. Yuta could be anyone to Taeyong. Maybe even someone so important he didn’t tell him about him.

Winwin clenched his fist, fixing a fake smile on his face to hide his thoughts. “Well. I guess we can have formal introductions?”

Yuta’s eyebrows rose in surprise, crossing his arms. “Oh? What’s the sudden acceptance?”

“I’d rather not insult here. It’s a waste of breath,” Winwin huffed, tucking a hair behind his ear that was irritating him “There are things I can set aside.” The ‘for my hyung’ is left unsaid but Yuta still can’t help the bitter smile he did.

“I’m Nakamoto Yuta. Taeyong’s my…” he trailed off, humming as he thought about what to label his connection to Taeyong. It’s kind of friendship, right? With a healthy dose of trying to wake him from his self-inflicted coma concern, Yuta settled with “He’s a family friend.”

Winwin squinted with one eye, judgment written all over his face “You don’t look Korean.”

“Wow, so do you so what’s the point in this?”

“Cute,” he scoffed, staring down at Taeyong for a while before turning back to Yuta “I’m Dong Sicheng. But please just call me Winwin.”

Yuta smirked. “You’re polite.”

“And you need to tell me what you’re doing here. The nurse let you in so they know you and I don’t so there’s no reason to trust you.”

The elder pretended like he was thinking about before shrugging “A friend, as I keep telling you.”

“I hardly heard of you.” Winwin muttered with a scary conviction that Yuta is surprised he hasn’t started strangling him yet.

“Taeyong and I tend to not really talk about each other. Our families have their own little agenda we rather not be part of.” Lying is the most fun Yuta ever can have without getting naked. Though he wouldn’t really mind the consequences of either when shame has already left him.

Winwin struggled to believe him, he knew. He’s a good fibber of the truth but he is no conman. He has the charisma to get away with half the shit he says so he can say that he hopes it saves him today. His vial is not being any help as it turned colder the more he stayed here.

Winwin looked from side to side, mulling over his thoughts. He looked cute that way, confused again like a kid. Maybe he can pinch his cheeks if they got close enough. “Then, you were the one who helped Taeyong-hyung here when he collapsed?”

Shit. Straight to the point without any preamble. It must be so easy to read Yuta if he can already make that link just with a few interactions, all things considered.

He nodded slowly, watching the relief light the boy’s face before he is crushed into a hug he didn’t expect.

The physical contact is unfamiliar to him, stiffening at the arms around him and trying not to breathe. It’s been a while since he’s received a hug. He’s unsure how to respond when he was hostile before this. It could thankfulness because Taeyong is important to Winwin but he doesn’t really want to be subjected to this due to something that was unavoidable. Yuta did enjoy the human touch but that was a long time ago and all the warmth he would have felt is melting into awkwardness. He’s considerably thinking he should push him away.

Winwin lets go, eyes glassy. “Thank you.”

Yuta melts inside and gives in, patting his back in comfort. However, this jarred the younger for some reason that he slapped his hand away. It was a spontaneous reaction it seemed and Yuta looks away.

“But that doesn’t explain why you’ve been following me.”

“Coincidental, I swear. We were just at conveniently at the same time and place. Stop assuming already because you’re painting me as some whack-ass stalker which is mildly insulting.”

Winwin looked torn. He walked over to the window to adjust the curtains, letting the sunlight in. The silence overcomes them again, confrontation making Winwin clam up to not give the benefit of looking defensive. Based on how he acted against Yukhei and Kun, he’s bound to be doing the same to him. It’s a bad coping mechanism, running away from his problems.

Especially when Lee Taeyong seemed to be the root of it.

“I do appreciate the company.” He heard Winwin say but it wasn’t directed to him and he’s already late for work so he can’t really let him clear it up.

Yuta doesn’t say goodbye because he’s sure they’ll meet again sooner than he thinks.

ღ

A familiar head of yellow is making his way down the street where Yuta is leaning on his balcony. He puts down the book he was reading to look over the edge, glad that it wasn’t his imagination when he saw Mark Lee trotting past his apartment with his head in the clouds. He’s not wearing his school uniform this time, just casual clothes and empty-handed save for the box he was cradling. Yuta touched his vial, unsure whether he should follow him when it didn’t react. Perhaps he should go down and see, just in case.

He puts on his shoes, briskly walking down the fire escape because Mark was already too far that if he took the elevator, he would miss him.

It took him a few minutes before he managed to tap Mark on the shoulder, startling the boy he almost dropped what he was holding. Yuta smiled apologetically, moving next to him to walk in his pace.

“Well, well. Looks like we meet again.”

Mark sighed, hand on his chest “Man, that scared me,” he muttered in English before adjusting the box in his hand “Don’t sneak up on me like that again. And how did you even-“

It’s creepy if he admitted that he’s monitoring him. Especially when Mark doesn’t remember him from before, Yuta is a stranger to him who helped him ride the bus on a rainy day. Yuta’s already walking on thin ice before he becomes the trigger to actually making Mark recall what happened. It wasn’t going to be a pretty experience. Mark wasn’t the only one who had to go through the heartbreak.

There was no such thing as boundaries when Yuta needed to do what he was meant to do.

“I was passing by the street and saw you. You looked like you were in a hurry so I wanted to check you weren’t doing something shady.” He smirked, finger-gunning just to ease the tension.

 Mark doesn’t look convinced but he didn’t want to be rude. He held his box, closer, ignoring Yuta’s inquisitive stare. He hummed as they walked to a mindless direction wherever the box would be left. Maybe he was throwing it away or maybe he was leaving it to someone’s hands. There are a lot of reasons why a box with the big bold black letters of memento crossed out is in Mark’s hands.

Yuta can’t help but ask. “Bad breakup? Throwing things out or burning them?”

Mark gave him a disbelieving face, lips curled in disgust. “What?”

“Either solution helps but burning them ensures you never get to see those things again. A tad dramatic but,” Yuta shrugged “It helps ease the longing.”

“I’m not sure where you were going with that but these are my old roommate’s. Our mutual friend wanted to get them from me because he was looking for them. I’m not that cruel.”

He begs to differ, Yuta thought with discomfort. There are other ways to be cruel to someone without pain or harmful words. Yuta’s seen a fair share of cruelty when people don’t tell others of their pain, suffering in their well-meaning silence until they lash out when no one understand them. The way that a mother doesn’t let their child go out in late hours to party or meet up with people they didn’t trust, only for the child to rebel and lose themselves. The way a friend leaves you because they were too immature to see their own wrong and pretend as if they were the ones wronged.

Kindness can be cruelty too. You only need to know where to swing it.

“Sure. That sounds just about right.” He whispered, stopping his stride as Mark continued walking. The younger noticed he was behind when he turned his head with a quirk of his eyebrow. They stared at each other, Yuta’s vial becoming cold again and really, Mark knew better than to go back to where he last saw his roommate before things got ugly.

Yuta smiled widely, catching up and trying to keep the hop in his step as they continued walking to the neighborhood where there were small apartments lining down the corner. They walked past three apartments with Mark’s eyes fixated straight down the road. Yuta commends him for still remembering this path when it should have been forgotten too. He touched his vial, twisting it to recall the importance of this place to Mark before, closing his eyes and his mind is greeted with the influx of images. The days of walking to school with laughter following them, a puppy they found at the side of the road and leaving his umbrella to shield it from the rain because the landlord hated animals, and the bright smile that rivaled that of the sun, arms around each other as they complained about exams and college applications.

Yet here he is, sending off the only connection he has left to a person he used to cling to during the darker days.

Time changes people, they morph into shadows of those they used to where love is what they give and now they shield their hearts underneath this shielded bravado that they aren’t affected anymore. Yuta understood why he wanted to throw them away but that doesn’t change anything that he still is clinging to the sliver of hope they will make up. It’s obvious in the tight grip he held that box, fingers skirting over the things inside with thoughts running in his head. Yuta sighed at his hesitance because it wouldn’t be long before he needed to get another extraction.

Mark stopped when they reached a big house, the staircase on the side that led to more rooms on the second floor. It reminded Yuta of the apartment houses back in Japan, impersonal and fit for only one person’s living space that it wouldn’t be trouble to leave it for a long period of time. He whistled, nostalgic on the last time he’s seen this kind of house as he followed the boy into the first door behind the stairs, knocking lightly and turning to Yuta with a stare that told him to behave.

“Why would you give these things back if your old roommate lives with this mutual friend of yours?” The question slips out, almost a taunt when Yuta started fitting the pieces together. Mark’s setting himself up into a trap. If he does speak to whoever was responsible for him to have heartbreak in the first place, there is a chance his vial will go haywire and try to seep back into its original owner. That’s a certainty he wanted to avoid, so he prodded him to leave. “Are you missing him?”

The twitch is present in Mark’s eye, fast enough that Yuta would have missed it. He closed his eyes to regain his composure and shaking his head hoping it would be enough of an answer. Yuta leaned a hand on the door to block him, considering his options to persuade him that nothing could be gained from this. Yuta is a firm believer of leaving a wound to heal instead of touching it too much until it reopened. It was better for both of them, he thought. No one could get hurt a second time.

“If I did, it wouldn’t matter. He’s forgotten me and I’m trying to forget him.” Mark answered, truthful but sounding like the words were wrung out of him and he’s tired of keeping it in.

Sad, so sad. “You’re waiting for a miracle.”

Mark’s looking more conflicted, lips in a tight line when the door opened. The blond is startled that he let go of the box with a yelp, scrambling to get it before it hit the floor but the other person has caught it easily and gasped.

“Mark?”

“Winwin?” Yuta blurted out, slapping a hand over his mouth when he realized his mistake and smiled sheepishly as Winwin’s narrowed his eyes at him. He’s dressed in sweats with the hood over his head and smears of what he likes to think as ketchup on the collar. Hair in disarray with pillow marks on his cheek, he looked worse for wear again. Winwin hissed through his teeth as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I take back what I said about you the other day. You’re really following me.” He turned to Mark this time, smiling in apology “This is a surprise. Are you here to-“

Mark shook his head to cut him off, gesturing the box in Winwin’s hands with his head down “Give this to Donghyuck, will you hyung?”

The elder’s shoulders sagged at him, reaching out to pat Mark’s head. Winwin’s face morphed between thoughtful and angry (mostly because of Yuta lurking about) before he said “You should talk to him before you use me to burn down the bridges.”

“He doesn’t care. He told me that when I last messaged him.”

Winwin put down the box in front of Mark, crossing his arms “Donghyuck was hurt because you chose your career over him when all he’s ever done was support you. And you put it around by accusing him of ruining your chances. Who wouldn’t pretend to care?”

He picked the box up again, pitying the boy when he pouted miserably. “I can never say no to that face but I won’t mix myself up with your drama, okay? I’ll just tell him I went over to take these so he wouldn’t think about it too much.”

“Where is he?” Yuta almost elbowed Mark for asking that question, following Winwin inside while Yuta awkwardly stood outside unsure if he was invited in.

He doesn’t hear their conversation, preoccupied that this was where Winwin was when he wasn’t in the hospital looking over Taeyong. Peering into the opened door, he surveyed the small space with a living room in his line of sight where there’s a worn out blue love seat settled before a television set, a drawer on the wall with photo frames on it and the dubiously stained white rug that completed the look. Mark comes out holding a bar of chocolate with Winwin whispering something to him, glaring at Yuta when he saw that he was still there.

He passed Mark over to him, sighing heavily “Take care of him. I can at least trust you with that it seems.” Sarcasm dripped down his words but Mark cooed at him, reaching out to pinch his ear then caressing his cheek with a smile. This is infectious enough that Winwin’s gaze softened.

“We’ll be okay, Winwin-gege. It’s a surprise to see you here but I’m glad nonetheless.” He admitted, waving one last time as the elder closed the door behind him with a throwaway wave of his own, leaving them two alone.

Mark whipped his head to Yuta, accusation already evident “Why didn’t you tell me you knew each other?”

Yuta shrugged, walking back the path they took with Mark still caught up on the topic. Winwin probably told him while he was out of earshot, giving him warnings about Yuta because of their last encounters and he doesn’t have time to clear it up.

“He did say he wanted to talk to you again. About Taeyong-hyung.”

Yuta stopped walking, shoving his hands into his pockets and throwing his head back “He and Taeyong…were they together? I’m sure that there are more to them if Winwin would sacrifice his own life for him.” He turned to the large river in front of him, the leaves from the trees lining the edge of the street falling to be dragged by the current downstream. The light glinting off the surface of the water is giving him the urge to throw rocks.

Mark noticed where he was looking, pondering his answer “I can’t tell. Everyone was a little in love with Winwin-gege before. Even now, they blame Taeyong for ruining such a person to the point that they can barely recognize him. He stopped going to school to care for him when he could have graduated already.”

“How did you know him?”

Mark chuckled “There’s no special story. We met because we were in the same club in the local library where Taeyong-hyung got him to take Korean lessons.”

“That’s it?”

The twinkle in his eyes is disturbing Yuta because Mark grinned, not giving more than he should “That’s it.”

But Yuta wants more answers. He wants to know where Winwin’s feelings sprung from, his intentions bleeding into personal where Winwin’s heartbreak is something he wanted to learn more of before he collected it. Taeyong’s was strong enough to affect someone else and that meant that whatever he held in his vial would be radioactive the longer he used it. A complete set was what he needed to make sure that he would continue this job, afraid where it would lead him.

Except Mark isn’t the right person to ask because he’s going through his own problems. Something Yuta will need to revisit when the time comes.

When they walked back home, Yuta stopping at his apartment with a sigh and tapped Mark on the shoulder. “We’ll see each other again soon.” He settled, already feeling the incoming doom that the younger quirked a brow at him. His vial is warming up rapidly, seeing the red curling against Mark’s skin that only he can recognize. Yuta’s seen the signs setting and if he can estimate it, he can already see that they’ll meet again two weeks after.

He’s good at his job.

“See you.”

Too good that he can already see Mark’s blank stare reflecting back at him with his empty heart beating slower than usual as they reeled him into the ambulance.

Yuta walked back up to his apartment room with a somber feeling.

ღ

“You met him, didn’t you?”

Taeyong’s voice stops him for a moment, blinking in confusion when the male is standing up with his back to the wall he usually kept his gaze on. It’s the first time he’s spoken to him first instead of waiting for Yuta to react, face impassive but the tension in his jaw betrayed his feelings. Yuta stared at him for a moment, surveying his clenched fists and the widening crack behind him spilling glittering matter that coated his feet.

His mind is breaking down quicker and the thoughts that he’s keeping is making it easy for him to just shut down. His reaction is good though, more for Yuta to pry so that he can see where he could hit the points to make him talk.

Yuta shrugged, sitting cross-legged on the ground and peered up “Yes.”

No need to deny. Taeyong can feel it when the vial is connected to him whether he likes it or not. His face creased, distaste evident “I see.” He walked towards Yuta, slow sure steps that it almost felt like the ground was shaking with him. This was Taeyong’s head space; whatever he felt would reverberate here as if it was his own. Right now, he isn’t feeling accepting of Yuta’s presence.

“What did he say?” His eyes wandered to the vial, the edge of his lips quirking down before he rounded Yuta and touching his shoulders. His touch is colder than he expected. “How did you feel when you saw him?”

Yuta felt uncomfortable the way he said it, feigning ignorance before he brushed past him to sit down to his usual spot where he kept his gaze to Yuta. He signaled him to come closer, waiting. Waiting for the answer he probably knew. Is it just him or is Taeyong’s eyes ringed with pink? There was a line for Yuta to cross and clearly, Winwin was it.

“He’s worried for you. As everyone who actually cares for you does, you know. He believes you will wake up and it’s bad to leave a guy waiting.” He joked, squatting across him with his chin on his knees. Taeyong made a half-smile as he stared at his hands as he mulled Yuta’s words. He looked as lost as he did the first time Yuta met him but he’s concentrated on something else that he peeked at the corner of his eyes every time.

Taeyong reached over, grabbing the vial with both hands. It reacted immediately, igniting within as the heat traveled to the chain and Yuta flinched away at the burn around his neck. Taeyong is blank-faced still, palms charred with red embers and skin peeling off like wax. It knit itself back seconds later, returning to the normal state save for the pinkish tint where the burns once were. Yuta can still feel the pain where the chain touched his own skin and it isn’t vanishing.

“You can’t take it away,” Taeyong is calm, a storm amidst his eyes and there is no joke in his tone “He doesn’t know what he feels and I don’t want him to suffer anymore. You don’t understand him.”

Taeyong looked lonelier, clutching his chest before continuing “If you would take it, at least get to know him,” A dawning realization came to his face, small at first before his eyes widened as he whipped his head to Yuta “You could help him.”

“I doubt that.” He couldn’t help anyone. Not when he was asked to take a broken heart that was killing someone, not when he left -he couldn’t say his name, how weak because he knew there was no future set for them. Help to Yuta was a mystic idea where he could make someone happy without hurting them first, it’s a stupid idea. He’s always there to take it away and never look back, consequences be damned. Taeyong is asking for the perpetrator to help the victim; he’s asking for a death sentence.

But Taeyong is desperate. His walls are crumbling around him with the shadow of the strong mind he carried is persistently battling the onset of his depressive episodes. Winwin is important. It’s what kept him going despite his self-inflicted prison, too afraid to face him but still wanting to give him what he needed.

“There’s no other way. You’ll see him every day and please, tell him to give up on me. Do something to change his mind that he wouldn’t waste his life waiting for me. It’s not worth it.” Taeyong sucked a breath. His hands are grappling for comfort, rubbing his arms then ruffling his hair. He tried to make himself smaller that Yuta couldn’t stop himself from hugging him close. It’s the least he can do.

Yuta doesn’t answer because he’s jarred out of the moment, blinking rapidly when he looked back to the door to find Winwin slack-jawed. He looked down, stifling a sound when he realized he had leaned down to hug Taeyong in his sleep and actually raising him to let him lean on his chest. He weighed so light that it felt like holding a pillow. He doesn’t know at what point he did it but god, the confusion in Winwin’s face is enough for him to drop him. This only got Winwin panicking.

“What the hell!” he shrieked as he shoved Yuta aside to rearrange Taeyong until he was comfortable again, pulling the covers up and glaring at Yuta furiously.

Yuta can’t choke out the apology before Winwin slapped him. The slap echoed in the silent room, Winwin panting heavily from his own strength and clenching his fists like he wants to actually punch him this time too. Yuta’s head is to the side in shock, slowly turning to Winwin as the younger leveled a glare at him. Yuta can only manage an “Ow.”

“Don’t-“Winwin moved his hands around, erratic and gesturing to Taeyong again “Don’t do that! God, what if something happens!” he’s screaming for it to be a question, frazzled that his eyes are bugging out of their sockets.

Yuta bit down his tongue, rubbing the stinging cheek before he went to grab Winwin’s wrists to stop the weird motions of his hands. Winwin’s lip quivered, sniffing and taking his hand back. He moved closer to the window, opening it to let some air in. He forgot about the running air-conditioning perhaps but when he’s composed himself with a few breaths, he closed it immediately. He rubbed his temples, walking past Yuta to lean on the door with a hand on the knob.

“I’m sorry about that. The nurse told me to move him to make sure his back wouldn’t suffer any kind of malformation.” The excuse is lame. Yuta doesn’t know where he pulled it from, rubbing his face in disgust. There were worse things to say. Yuta always seems to pull them out when Winwin is involved.

Winwin isn’t convinced yet he looked down “I overreacted.” He admits, his expression hidden and Yuta glared at Taeyong for putting him in this situation. The vial signals him with fluctuations from warmth to cold, already misting that he touched it to removed the condensation.

“Want to hang a bit?”

Winwin quirked a brow at him.

 

“Taeyong’s your boyfriend or something?”

Winwin almost dropped his ice cream, his cone cracking when he clutched it too tight. His cheeks are tainted pink, worrying down his lower lip with his teeth. He looked embarrassed. Yuta’s question is innocent, smile more so when he bit down his ice lolly. They were in the hospital cafeteria, outside where the garden was beautiful and the trees casting the perfect shade over them. It’s been a while since he’s gone out to enjoy the sun, more accustomed to the cold and heavy layers. Point with how he had to shed his poofy parka, draped on the table as he relished the feeling of just wearing a t-shirt instead of worrying about frostbite. He can feel the warmth seeping back into his skin, clouds adrift a blue sky that he bit down the side of his cone to mingle with the sweetness of the Double Dutch scoop.

The question struck him. “No.” He failed to hide his disappointment that Yuta chuckled around his ice pop.

Winwin always wondered about Yuta, even when he doesn’t see him. It’s strange for him, invasive to a fault because he would ask the nurses if some fellow visited again just so he can talk to him. It didn’t help that he was with Mark the other day, talking like old friends if he can trust his eyes. He had to talk to Mark inside without him in earshot to ask why they know each other.

Mark who shrugged, scratching his head “I don’t know if it makes sense but…” he trailed off and put his hand over his stomach “I feel like I knew him before, before he helped me at the bus stop.”

Winwin remembered that. He was walking back to the hospital after buying some lunch with his red umbrella swung on one shoulder to shield him, staring across the street as the raindrops filtered the atmosphere a dreary color. He had spotted Mark then, a drowned rat in the heavy downpour, pity seizing him as he stared at both left and right so he can cross the street to help him. Yet when he looked back with a foot on the edge, Mark was already walking with someone, talking amidst themselves. He didn’t mind it, convinced it was his friend from school.

That was Yuta then and Winwin wondered how long has he been interweaving in his life.

He warned him to be careful around him, mostly because Winwin himself didn’t trust the complete story of how he knew Taeyong.

The day before Taeyong was in a coma, he called him. But he didn’t pick up out of sheer pettiness, waiting if he would call again just to spite him. Because Winwin was too hurt to think straight, drowning in his loathing that he couldn’t see the bigger picture of what he’s done. He waited for the second call with trepidation, breath stopping when it came and then when he was about to pick it up, the dial tone rung as the voice mail came through. Winwin listened to his last words with tears in his eyes before he booked a plane ticket back home, only to find out Taeyong wasn’t found in his apartment, missing for some time until he was admitted to a hospital. His parents didn’t know until an anonymous caller came, Winwin the second to find out because he was the emergency respondent if anything happened to him.

Winwin couldn’t sleep at night when Taeyong’s voice rang in his head, filled with nothing but despair as he said “This way, everyone could be content with their lives. Especially you, Sicheng. Goodbye.”

He hated goodbyes ever since.

Yuta smiled at him, sweetly if he thought about it too much. He reminded him summer days, of vacations in Japan where there would be cherry blossoms blooming pink flowers raining down on him when the wind picked up. He remembered the photographs he took of phone booths, the traditional wear he wore as he went to those festivals where he could smell food everywhere and the melodious laughter of the spectators filling his ears.

His heartbeat picks up when his eyes grow softer, rubbing off the ice cream on his cheek. “You okay?”

Taeyong whom he missed dearly came to his mind, melding with the person before him. There’s a distant sound that he missed as he kept his gaze on Yuta, wondering why he felt calmer now. His mind is starting to force the puzzles that perhaps he could ask about Taeyong and how he was before he decided to sleep. Then maybe he can finally find the reason why.

Winwin smiled, Yuta’s own slipping as he looked in awe.

Oh, Yuta thought. Winwin has always felt charming to him, mysterious to a fault with his loyalties too strange for him to decipher. Why stay when all it would guarantee is suffering? Yuta knew so well the hardship of uncertainty. But Winwin knew it all the same, still holding onto false hope and lashing out when it’s questioned.

He’s beautiful.


End file.
